


Huntsman and the Seven Mutants

by teracity



Category: Marvel (Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Charles you adorable dork, Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Quest, Snark, bad swordfighting, fictional mystical creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teracity/pseuds/teracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is the Prince in need of rescuing, he and the Seven Mutants all sleep in one big bed, and Charles goes on his first proper quest. </p><p>Also known as happy endings do exist! </p><p>Very loosely based on Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Huntsman and the Seven Mutants

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ X-men Tales ](http://xmen-tales.livejournal.com/), inspired by this [ lovely art ](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8rul6nZb41r1taq0o1_500.jpg)
> 
> I woke up one morning with this idea that refused to go away, so here it is. It's my longest story to date, and unbeta-ed so pointing out any glaring inconsistencies would be greatly appreciated. Also, apologies for gratuitous use of parentheses - I have a fondness for them. 
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful people at the Tales chat who patiently listened to my moaning about a lack of a beta.

The Crimson Regent smiled at the sight before him and gestured for the guards to halt their torment of the prisoner.

The boy, just short of seventeen, was huddled on the dirt floor, tattered clothes barely affording him any dignity. It was silent but for his ragged breathing and the whistling winter air.

How much pride you have left, my prince, thought Shaw smugly. After the deaths of King Jacob and Queen Edith, his control over the kingdom would have been complete and undisputed if not for the troublesome creature before him. Even at the age of fourteen, Prince Erik ignored his advice, and even repudiated his orders.

“Frost.”

The court’s resident sorceress stepped forward smoothly. Her face was the usual mask of icy indifference. Pressing pale lips together, she looked at the Prince with a nonchalant grace that was as deceptive as it was elegant.

Utter stillness settled upon the yard.

Startled birds took flight and even the guards flinched when the screams started.

=

Erik stumbled through the forest, wincing as bare branches clawed at his torn clothes. The last village drove him away four days ago, and while the snow was a reliable source of water, foraging for food was more difficult.

He hadn’t expected to live this long. Ever since his parents died in the plague that wiped out his entire village, he had wandered from hamlet to hamlet, the lone survivor. Stigma of the plague made him unwelcome wherever he went. He was so tired that he couldn’t even feel anger at the ignorant villagers who turned him away callously, or gratitude for the kind few who gave him food. He was tired that he was hallucinating.

Rubbing his eyes in astonishment, Erik stopped. Just a hundred feet away stood a wooden lodge with a curl of smoke rising from its chimney. A small but obviously well used path led to a door, and he could see the edges of a woodpile sticking out from the back.

Could it be…? He dared not to hope for, as he had bitterly learnt, true despair only existed where there was hope.

Erik approached cautiously, making his presence known to any occupants in the house. There was no movement or sound even when he reached the door that (he discovered) was unlocked. Usually, that would make him pause – open doors were exceedingly rare in these times of war – but he was cold and hungry, and could only think of the warmth of a covered house.

The door swung open easily, well oiled and oft used, he noted, and welcoming heat embraced him. A fireplace crackled at the far end of the large room, and he could see the kitchen through a doorway beside it. His stomach gave a little grumble at the thought of food, but the huge bed dominating the main room held his attention.

A bed complete with pillows and duvet and proper sheets.

Closing the door behind him, Erik approached The Bed (somehow the capitals felt right) with mild reverence and disbelief. His hand stroked the faded but soft duvet, and he sat on its edge to remind himself of how a bed felt like.

Dancing flames were the last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him.

=

Warm hands stroked his hair and Erik shifted sleepily. The duvet was drawn up under his chin and his body basked in the cocoon of warmth. ‘Just a little longer, mama,’ he murmured.

Mama was dead.

Sitting upright so quickly that his back screamed in protest, Erik gasped and scrabbled against the headboard when he noticed his surroundings.

No less than six pairs of eyes were peering at him with worry and mild curiosity. He was fairly certain that one of those eyes were gold.

‘Hey, it’s alright,’ said the lady (gold eyes, he thought dizzily) who was sitting next to him. ‘You’re safe here.’

‘I’m sorry!’ uttered Erik as his mind rushed to replay what had happened. ‘I didn’t mean – I was cold and – it’s just been so long since – ‘

‘Hush,’ the lady was now smiling softly, and it could be hunger but his stomach twisted slightly. When was the last time someone had smiled at him? ‘My name is Raven, what’s yours?’

‘Erik. Erik Lehnsherr.’

‘Well Erik, this is Angel – ‘ she gestured to a brown-skinned brunette who was hovering near the kitchen. ‘St John – ‘ a flaxen haired boy grinned and waved from beside the fireplace. ‘Janos – ‘ Dark eyes flashed at him as the tall man nodded sombrely. ‘And Wanda and Pietro, the twins.’ The flamed-hair lady who looked nothing like the silver-haired male standing next to her winked and dropped a mock curtsey.

Angel, who had ducked into the kitchen in the midst of the introductions, returned with a plate of bread and what looked like butter. Erik’s stomach growled loudly, and he flushed with embarrassment. His parents may have been lowly peasants, but his mama had insisted on teaching him his manners.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, clutching the covers in his hands, tight enough to hurt. Not a dream, he thought.

Raven laughed, and this time he was certain it was not hunger that gripped his stomach. ‘Stop apologizing for being starved and exhausted. Go eat and tell us your story.’

Over the long wooden table situated against the opposite end of the room, Erik recounted his childhood. He told them of the small hamlet he grew up in, and of the humble yet happy life they had led with his father as village carpenter and his mother tending their own garden. Like the other children, he was taught how to read and write by the village priest. There was even a pretty girl who let him hold her hand and walk her home.

Then the plague had come. No one really knew where it came from, or when it started, but it had washed over the land, leaving death in its wake. Those who survived had it worse – condemned to a life of exile as one of the marked. The lucky ones died of exposure soon after, but he had heard horrifying whispers of some who formed ragtag groups and ravaged villages.

Above all, there was the war with the neighbouring kingdom. For years, the Xavier family had been at peace with the Eisenhardts; peace was but a bitter memory these days. It was not an outright invasion, but an invisible one that drained the land of its crops, its metals, its horses, and its spirit.

‘I’ve been wandering for three years,’ he concluded. ‘Four days since I last saw anyone.’

The room was quiet during his tale, but not the lonely one he was so familiar with. St John went to stoke the fire when it was burning low, Wanda found a warm coat for him, and Angel brought out more bread and water. He thanked them and nibbled the bread in between sips of water, savouring the warmth of the company and room before they sent him on his way.

‘You’re staying with us then,’ Raven suddenly declared.

Erik spluttered and set his cup down with a thump. That was the last thing he expected to hear. Everyone in the room turned to look at him, and he could almost discern the ongoing mental discussion. As if on cue, they all nodded at once.

‘Brilliant,’ Raven said briskly, standing up with his plate and mug. ‘Let’s get you settled in.’

=

Settling in meant getting him cleaned up and given warmer clothing. He learnt they were survivors like him; instead of wandering from place to place, they had met and built a home together. The lodge was bigger than he thought – there was an attic, a cellar, and one humid room that St John called the steamer (It’s where we shower and do the laundry, Pietro had clarified.) There was even an alcove in the main room where there were books stacked into plain wooden shelves, and woven rugs covered the floor.

He also found out why The Bed was huge: they all slept in it. While the idea shocked him initially, Raven had laughed and put her arm companionably over his shoulder.

‘It saves space,’ she explained. ‘Keeps us all warm, and anyway, we’re all family here.’

Family. Over the years, Erik had wished for food, shelter, and warmth, but family was the one thing he considered lost forever.

Looking around the room, Erik thought it was nice to be wrong. That is, until he met Azazel.

=

Five days after his induction into the family, Erik headed out to chop some firewood. He was pleased to be able to contribute in some way, especially after their generosity.

As they came from distant villages, his seven housemates were assumed to be refugees of the war that was nearing their doorstep. Wanda and Pietro sold herbs and small charms at various markets, St John and Janos helped out at the local parishes, and Angel baked breads and pastries that she hawked along with the twins. Raven, despite looking no older than him, ran the household with a frightening competency. It was simple and all he would have asked for.

Hefting the solid weight of the axe in his hand, Erik hummed as he stepped out the door and walked straight into the devil.

‘The Holy Man!’ he cried. The axe flew from his hands towards the apparition as it disappeared with a loud crackle and in a puff of red mist.

‘Erik?’ yelled Raven, blonde hair falling out of its bun as she ran out from the steamer. ‘What is it?’

The axe was quivering where it was embedded in the nearby tree, and the red mist had dissipated.

‘The devil,’ he replied, looking around wildly.

‘What?’ Raven drew him close in concern.

‘He vanished but he was here! All red, forked tail, black hair.’ It had been so brief that had he not remembered the feeling of colliding with something solid, Erik would have doubted his own sanity.

‘He’s back!’ The sheer delight that brightened her face left him even more confused. Raven laughed. ‘His name is Azazel, and no, he’s not the devil.’

‘Nor kin,’ responded a gravelly voice beside her. ‘At least, the last time I checked. And that, young man, was a brilliant throw.’

Erik jumped and the axe was flying towards them… except now it was hurtling away from them, finally landing on the door with a solid thunk.

‘Could you please stop doing that?’ asked Azazel in irritation. ‘Impressive but I got the point.’

‘Erik, you’re one of us!’ Raven was smiling at him so brightly it hurt to look.

‘What?’ He was now sprawled on a snowdrift three feet away from where he last remembered standing.

‘Look.’ His fair blonde-haired friend flickered and was replaced by a blue scaled female with slick rust-coloured hair who grinned down at him with gleaming gold eyes. ‘I shift shapes, Azazel can teleport, and you can move things with your mind?’

Erik closed his eyes and willed everything away. He should have known from the moment he stepped through the unlocked door that it was all too good to be true. A faint humming hovered at the edge of hearing and he frowned, trying to shut it out.

‘Honestly.’ Azazel’s voice was now dripping with disapproval. ‘That was a good axe.’

Opening his eyes, the first thing Erik noticed was the puddle of grey metal in front of the door. The humming persisted, and he realized with a start that it came from the axe (or what remained of it). Raven placed a blue hand gently down on his shoulder, and Erik stared at it in fascination. He wondered how it felt to the bare skin, and if she felt cold the same way he did.

‘Let’s go in,’ she said. ‘There’s more to our story to hear.’

=

On hindsight and with time, Erik reckoned he would have figured it out. Small things that seemed odd now made a lot more sense: the way they always had hot water; the way Janos would be the one sent to clear the snow and how it always seemed to be snowing heavily when he did; the way Pietro returned from the cellar so quickly; the way the ceilings and high beams of the rooms were always clean…

‘And Wanda?’ he asked.

‘Those charms of hers?’ Raven, still blue and scaled, replied. He nodded, fingers unconsciously stroking the one she had woven for him (For love and protection, she had said, laughing at his faint blush). ‘They really work.’

‘I apologize for startling you back there,’ Azazel said after a moment of consideration. ‘Although you surprised me too.’

Erik was about to reply that he surprised himself as well when the door flung open and everyone trooped in, drowning his words in a chorus of noise.

‘Azazel! Hey buddy, glad to see you back!’

‘The market was so crowded today, you can’t imagine – ‘

‘Those pastries were for sale, St John you greedy pig.’

‘What happened to our axe?’ Janos’s voice was soft but his question clearly heard.

Once again, Erik found himself the subject of scrutiny and rubbed his lower lip in guilt. ‘Me.’

‘You mean... ‘ Pietro broke the silence tentatively.

‘Yes,’ Raven affirmed, shifting effortlessly into her blonde form and back again as she stood up.

‘Oh, good,’ sighed Angel as she unfurled iridescent wings. ‘I was starting to cramp up.’

=

All in all, everyone was much less surprised by him than he was by them. Then again, they had known of their abilities for longer. After the awkward re-introductions, Pietro and St John insisted on a demonstration of his powers (they discovered he could manipulate anything metallic) and Raven agreed that having their axe restored was a good idea.

‘You know,’ remarked Pietro, eyeing the axe warily. ‘I think it’s much sharper than it used to be.’

‘Well, we know who’s on firewood duty from now onwards.’ Azazel grinned mischievously, enhancing his devilish features.

=

Life with abilities was easier (or trickier, depending) and more interesting, but like all others, it went on. Winter slowly thawed away, and spring waltzed in. Erik settled into life with the rest – he discovered that Wanda made glamour charms for when they ventured out - and soon they had established a rhythm of their own.

Angel woke them up with the smell of freshly baked bread. Pietro and Janos retrived some cured meats from the cellar, and Erik fetched water with Azazel. When they returned, everyone would sit along the wooden table for a hearty breakfast.

Wanda had a secret glade not far from the lodge where she would sit and weave her charms, singing to the wildlife that occasionally wandered past. St John, under Raven’s strict supervision, would be in the steamer heating up water for their baths and laundry. Erik would help out here and there, sometimes in the kitchen with Pietro and Angel, sometimes joining Wanda with her weaving, sometimes with Janos as he sat reading in the alcove. There were the evening walks with Raven and Azazel, when the teleporter would tell of the faraway lands he had visited. At the end of the day, with the occasional complaining and jostling, they would all settle comfortably into The Bed and fall asleep in each other's warmth.

It didn’t bother him to have so many people around all the time. He had his own space: a patch of trees that he visited often, where he honed his newfound ability with pieces of scrap metal.

Erik thought that was the end of his story, but fate was like a wheel that keeps rolling no matter who or what was in the way. Above all, one could never outrun the shadow of one’s heritage.

=

Shaw stewed on his throne, the oak one sitting several steps below the actual iron one. The one that belonged to him if not for the fact that the infuriating little brat was still alive. If the Xaviers ever discovered that the real monarchs of Eisenhardt had died years ago, and the Crown Prince was missing, they would quickly realize who their real enemy was.

Speaking of which …

‘Your grace, I cry your pardon if I have offended you,’ pleaded the messenger who trembled before him, prostrate with fear.

The Crimson Regent laughed, a mirthless sound that echoed in the empty hall. Where once there were councillors and ministers a-plenty, the war and his paranoia had decimated their ranks. Out of necessity, only Frost remained. Affection was a fatal kink in one’s armour, and Shaw never let his guard down. With a flick of his hand, the messenger flew across the long hall, body crunching into a broken pile at the base of the solid wooden doors.

‘Frost,’ he commanded. The sorceress, looking as young as she did those many years ago, stepped out of the shadows. He summoned one of his personal guards as well, and regarded the two standing before us. ‘I want him dead. Properly dead.’

=

After five years, the war was finally winding down. At least, that was what was whispered in the villages, and they were so far from the capital that the news was either false or grossly outdated. It was true that there were more men in the villages now, and reconstruction had started up along with revolution.

The Eisenhardts had ruled the kingdom with an iron fist for as long as anyone could remember, but the strain of war slowly loosened that grip and fanned the flames of the people’s discontent. Rumours of the impending Xavier victory fed the fire: no one wanted to be on the losing side. Azazel’s occasional forays (being able to be anywhere almost at once was immensely useful) confirmed much of what they heard.

it didn't matter to them. They lived in a remote region in an even more remote lodge – short of soldiers actually marching in on them, and the occasional lack of provisions, the war remained a distant whisper.

Erik had grown out of his lanky seventeen-year-old self, lean muscles fililng up once skinny limbs. He was now taller than the rest, save for Janos, a fact that perplexed Azazel as much as it delighted Raven. His skill with metal meant hunting fell to him (and Pietro with his quicksilver speed), and he moved with an agile grace that belied strength.

Or as Wanda and Angel sometimes teased: if they hadn’t got him first, every other girl who met him thereafter would have tried. they still try, but possessive Raven scared even him. Not to mention Azazel – he chuckled as he recalled how they met.

‘Mister…?’

A small voice had him jerking towards the left, hand outstretched and ready to change the metal pole if needed. While they lived in relative peace, there were times when they had to fight off hostile strangers who stumbled upon them (rare, given the discombobulating wards Wanda put up).

‘Don’t hurt me!’ cried a small boy, roughly eight in years, who peeked out from behind a bush. Erik relaxed. The boy’s clothes were dirt-streaked, and his pale face was no better. He noted the thin limbs and felt warm empathy uncurl. Another refugee, as he had been not so many years ago.

‘Hey there, what’s your name?’ he called out, dropping his arm.

‘Ain't got no name,’ the boy replied, easing out from behind the bush. ‘They just call me boy.’

Not alone then, thought Erik, even as he felt a slight anger at the boy’s namelessness. ‘I’m Erik. Are you lost?’

Having decided that the strange shirtless man was not going to beat him up, the boy was now examining the various metal sculptures littering the ground around them.

‘Wow, did you make these Mister Erik?’

Mentally reminding himself to be more circumspect about his ability, he shrugged in reply. ‘Just got them from here and there.’

‘They’re really pretty.’ The boy had picked one up and was looking at it in undisguised delight. Despite himself, Erik felt a small swell of pride. Perhaps he could sell them in the market along with Wanda’s charms and Angel’s pastries.

‘You can keep it if you want.’

‘Really?’ The wide smile spurred one from him, and he was glad to have given the boy another possession of his own (of which there were far too few, he was sure). ‘Thanks! Here, I’ve got an apple today from the cook.’

Quick reflexes prevented the apple from dropping onto the forest ground. ‘Don’t you want it?’

‘Naw, I’ve got another. Anyway, I’ve to go now! It was nice meeting you Mister Erik.’

Still smiling softly as the boy scampered off, Erik took a bite of the crisp apple, sweet juice running down his chin.

Darkness swallowed him shortly after.

=

‘Are you sure he’s dead?’ The guard eyed the motionless man suspiciously, unwilling to step close to anything that witch had spelled.

‘Why don’t you check?’ Frost replied smoothly, mouth set in disdain. ‘Or perhaps you want to test my potion yourself?’

Stumbling slightly in his haste to distance himself from Frost, the guard placed his fingers against the pulse point. There was none.

‘Good. Let’s go.’ Without waiting for a reply, Frost swept her cloak around her and turned to leave.

‘Wait! The body-’

Without breaking her stride, Frost tossed a cold order over her shoulder. ‘Let the wild take care of it. I rather keep my hands clean whenever I can.’

The guard hesitated for a moment, but the Regent’s orders were simply to ensure that the Prince was dead. Looking around the eldritch forest, he shrugged and followed the witch.

Bodies were always so troublesome to dispose of anyway.

=

Charles Francis Xavier, Crown Prince and Heir Apparent, rode along the grassy path feeling annoyed at his monarch father for sending him on this journey. While he understood the importance of establishing good relations with the people of the land you were invading, and the strategic significance of frontline reconnaissance, he never liked anything associated with war.

Diplomacy was his weapon of choice; that was how his father had convinced him to leave his books. You are the future king, he had said, you learn the ropes of statecraft through experience, not from ink.

What he had learnt was that the people they were supposed to be ruling over hardly cared who sat on the throne – as long as the taxes were reasonable and they were unbothered, it could be anyone for all the difference it made. There was favourable talk of the Xaviers but given the harshness of the recent Eisenhardt rule, it was understandable. What caught his interest were murmurs of the Eisenhardt prince, who had supposedly gone missing five years ago.

Now, he thought. That was the real reason his father had sent him out. If Prince Erik suddenly appeared, it would be a new player factor in the war. whichever side he took would change the field.

Lost in his thoughts, Charles nearly ran into a small boy who was scampering across the road.

‘Woah,” he cried, jerking the reins tight. “Steady boy.’

The boy disappeared into the undergrowth, but if he could do so, he was fine. Shaking his head, he was about to ride off when he noticed the glint of metal on the grass. Curious, he dismounted and picked it up.

It was exquisite: Charles could almost feel the silky strands of the woman’s hair under his finger, and hear the rustling of the folds in her skirt. Her slender hands were weaving something intricate, and the laughing smile on her face was so lifelike that he could not help but smile as well.

As Crown Prince, he was used to seeing many treasures and great works of art. This misplaced miniature surpassed them all. Tucking it into his saddlebag, he felt slightly better for being out here.

For the first time since entering this foreign land, there was someone he wanted to meet.

=

It was Wanda who found him.

Raven shrieked in despair upon seeing Erik lying so still and cold upon the floor, and even the normally composed Janos looked shaken.

‘Az,’ she sobbed, hands skittering frantically over pale skin. ‘I can’t feel anything.’ She put her head against his chest, willing for even the slightest beat. There was none.

Pietro was an agitated blur beside her, and St John looked positively murderous. Keeping a grip on her own emotions, Wanda approached the apple that had rolled a little distance from her friend’s lifeless hand. Even from half a mile away, she could detect the magical residue. Whoever did this, she thought, was extremely powerful.

‘He was making these for us.’ Angel said quietly, picking up one of the metal sculptures from the ground. ‘Making us.’

Wordlessly, they picked up the pieces to discover she was right: there was a miniature likeness of each of them, breathtaking in their detail. Only Wanda’s was missing, but she knew it was because it hadn’t been made. No – whoever did this to her friend had likely taken it as a souvenir.

For a long while, they stayed there: Raven unmoving with her head on Erik’s chest, Azazel a red shadow wrapped around her. Wanda had her arm around her twin to still his shaking, and St John, Janos, and Angel were crouched beside them. The miniatures were loosely grouped on the grass beside Erik’s head. It looked like a funeral circle.

It was.

=

‘My lord, it is done.’

‘On your life?’

The briefest of pauses.

‘Yes.’

=

Azazel teleported them back to the lodge, holding Erik with a gentleness that was heart wrenching in its rarity. Wanda walked with her brother, cautiously wrapping the apple in a cloth and holding it at arms length. She didn’t say anything, not wanting to raise any hopes for death was beyond the reach of any arts she was aware of, but she wished to at least decipher the mystery of Erik’s death.

Back in the house, no one said anything. Years of cohabitation meant a mutual understanding that ran deeper than most people could comprehend, and it was in silence that the last rites were conducted for their friend.

Erik was carefully cleaned with a warm towel and dressed in his favourite cotton shirt. Raven combed his hair, fingers brushing affectionately over his face. Seeing her friend lie there peacefully as if he were but asleep, Wanda let her tears fall. They huddled together, arm to waist to tail to shoulders.

The apple sat covered on the far end of the table. A mystery for later – now was the time for grief.

=

Birds took off in surprise as the undergrowth rustled and parted to reveal a young man dejectedly consulting a map as he tried to maintain a hold on the reins.

‘Shouldn’t have tried to take this shortcut,’ he muttered, running a hand absentmindedly through messy chestnut curls. ‘Oh bollocks, I don’t even know where we are now.’

The carefully drawn map was hastily shoved into his saddlebag, and Charles straightened his spine. He may be lost, but he was still royalty. Mother did say to look as if the world always had its eyes on him. Thinking of his parents made him slump slightly as his horse trotted forward uncaringly. Logan had trained him well enough in the art of surviving in the wild, but that was in his homeland and not in this – he cast a dispiriting look around – strange dark forest. He shivered and resisted the urge to spur his mount.

It was utterly ridiculous – the forest was not really pushing him away. A trick of his anxious mind, fed by his ever-present self-doubt. He dismissed it as his imagination until his eyes picked out something strange in the trees to his right.

Something about the way the light fell, he thought, riding closer only to find he couldn’t. Frowning, Charles put a finger to his temple and _pushed_ the way his father taught him. There was the murmur of life all around: the little fleeting minds of the birds, the piercing focus of the fox, and the slumber of something – no, someone. He widened his eyes and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Distasteful as he found combat to be, he had enough sense (admittedly beaten into him) to not go riding into an unknown situation unprepared.

Using the mind as a beacon, Charles gradually broke through what had appeared to be an impenetrable wall of trees and came upon a most incongruent glade. In contrast to the wild and ancient forest he had been lost in, the grass here grew lush and green, and there were various moss-capped boulders scattered around. At one end was a magnificent oak with branches stretching almost all the way around. It felt magical, which was rather appropriate given the presence that had guided him here.

Charles dismounted and slowly approached the figure lying on a grassy mound at the other end. His hand never left his sword but his grip loosened when he realized the person was asleep. Looking at him, Charles was hit by a disconcerting sense of recognition and sank to his knees beside the man.

Sun-kissed ginger hair, strong jaw, thin lips – he couldn’t quite explain why he felt as if he knew that man. Those eyes, he thought, would be gray speckled with green. Perhaps it was the features that screamed royal blood, but it couldn’t be… Reaching forward, he brushed against cool metal and looked down, noticing for the first time the six miniatures. He picked one up: a faerie, wings a-flutter and a bowl in her arms. As with the one in his saddlebag, this too was intricate and so life-like he half-expected the faerie to take flight.

 _‘Finally.’_ An icy voice pierced his mind and he slammed his mental shields up with a curse. Telepathy ran strong in the Xavier bloodlines but was not exclusive to them. Even in this strange land, there might be others similarly gifted and possibly hostile.

 _‘Show yourself,’_ he commanded, drawing his sword halfway out of its sheath.

 _‘I’m right here.’_ An amused chuckle.

Charles was momentarily confused – the man’s mind was obviously dormant. Focusing harder, he discovered the other presence hovering at the forefront. A Seal, he realized, placed there by a skilled telepath. He recalled reading about them in a military history book: they were usually used as a beacon and more rarely as a way of passing on information. This particular one seemed to be both. Unless he unlocked it correctly, it would self-destruct, taking the man’s mind along with it. Neither pleasant nor ethical, but they had been desperate times.

A thought encouraged him: here was a chance to meet the sculptor in person - if he unlocked the Seal. Closing his eyes and leaning back against the mound with sword fully drawn, Charles took a deep breath and entered the astral plane to confront whatever awaited him there.

=

_Ice Falcon_

_A rare creature, with the last recorded sightings occurring over a century ago. Reports describe it being of monstrous size – a wingspan stretching at least 4 human lengths, and talons as long as scimitars. While they are not known to actively attack people, there have been several incidences of aggression where their young are concerned. General agreement is that it is best to give them a wide berth whenever possible. As suggested by their name, ice falcons appear to be made out of ice and have only been spotted in frozen areas. To date, no one has successfully obtained a sample of plumage to test this theory._

=

It took Charles’s entire royal upbringing to not gape at the sight before him. Sunlight glinted off deadly angles and sharp edges, forcing him to squint. Talons that were indeed as long and curved as scimitars scratched the ground, leaving deep jagged trails in their wake. Huge beady eyes spinning like wheels of fire glared at him. The beak clicked impatiently, once, twice.

Anyone who thought the imagination couldn’t kill was a fool. Charles was acutely aware that death in the astral plane translated to literal death – his body would become a drooling babe.

‘State identity.’

Apparently they spoke too, he thought in suspended disbelief.

‘Charles Francis Xavier, Crown Prince and Heir Apparent to the Genoshan Kingdom.’

‘Identity unknown. Hostile situation alert. Engage.’

‘Wha - ?’

The first blow would have ended his quest but for his quick reflexes (He made a mental note to thank Logan when – no, if he ever saw his instructor again) Talons clashed viciously against his shield, and Charles was pushed back a couple of feet.

By the Holy Man, these things were strong.

And fast, he added, bringing his sword up to parry off the stabbing beak. For the first time in a long while, he was at a complete loss as to what to do.

Remember your training: parry, block, roll, evade, watch your back and air, he chanted, as the bird darted around, powerful wings beating him back. it battered his shield incessantly, and his sword was useless for anything besides preventing his untimely death.

Spotting an opening, he brought his sword down to its wing joint. The falcon screamed, an unearthly sound that shot down his spine even as he was cut by a shower of splintery shards. Under different circumstances, he would be delighted at obtaining samples for research.

‘Self-destruct in one minute!’

‘No!’ he yelled. There had to be some way to stop this…

_Seals are distinguished by a pulsing point where their true centre lies._

Charles could see a faint blue light in its throat. It was indeed throbbing very slightly, like a heart. Distantly, he realized what he had to do and, as risky as it was, did not hesitate to drop his shield.

As expected, the falcon plunged towards him. Watching the sharp beak approach, he forced himself to still. He gripped his sword steadily and focussed on that spot. The one spot that would either damn or save them all, he thought grimly. Right before it struck, Charles thrust up with all his strength and resolve. His sword pierced the throat easily. The falcon froze in mid-air, death mere inches away from his face.

‘Activated. Transmitting message.’

Charles sighed with relief but kept a grip on the hilt as he warily eyed the falcon that was now standing before him with its wings primly folded up.

‘Hello Xavier. If you haven’t figured it out by now, the man is Erik Eisenhardt, missing crown prince. He’s only asleep and should waken once the Seal breaks. The Eisenhardts are not the real enemy – Regent Shaw is. His war has long stopped being about this kingdom and only about him. You and Erik can restore peace. I will deal with Shaw when the time comes. I have locked the Prince’s memories so he’ll need your help in regaining them. Don’t try to contact me.’

Click, click, click.

‘End of message. Replay?’

Of course – that was why the man looked familiar. Before the war, the two princes had been close and visited each other frequently. Now he knew why he had neither seen nor heard from his friend for nearly ten years.

He thought of Regent Shaw with a sinking heart. The man had always been too smooth for his comfort, but he had dismissed it as mere court politics then. Apparently he had tired of dominating King Jacob’s ear and grown greedy for more. Now he’s bitten off more than he could chew, Charles thought bitterly. The Xaviers never initiated conflicts, but they fought hard when the need arose. Thinking back, he recognized the voice that had first touched his mind. Emma Frost, the eisenhardt court sorceress, was evidently a telepath as well.

If she was to be trusted, and frankly he didn’t have much choice in this, then he had to find Erik and his memories. Charles slapped his forehead with a groan. The astral plane was essentially infinite. Erik could be anywhere.

‘End of message. Replay?’

_A Seal can be attached to another person’s mind regardless of whether they are aware of it._

‘No. Take me to him.’

Click, click, click. The eyes spun unwaveringly.

‘Prince Erik Eisenhardt, your host.’

‘Affirmative.’

This time, when the falcon bowed low, spreading its wings out with the clear implication that he was to climb on, Charles didn’t stop his mouth from dropping open. Sheathing his sword and slinging the shield over his back, he grinned as he thought of all the times Moira had teased him about his lack of adventuring.

Then they were off and he could only think of holding on and not falling and finally, this with a sense of wonder, I’m flying.

=

Emma perked up in the middle of another long Shaw monologue. Tentatively reaching out, she smiled.

That Xavier boy was as good as she expected.

The plan might actually work.

=

The best way to imprison a person’s mind is if they construct the prison themselves.

Given that it was Erik’s mind and memories, Charles wasn’t surprised to find them swooping over a labyrinth that was a replica of the one in his family estate. Instead of trimmed hedges (though), the maze walls were composed of dense foliage from the forest where their physical bodies were located.

‘Do you know where Erik is exactly?’ he asked, hoping despite already suspecting the answer.

‘Negative. This is my limit.’ They had landed at the edge of the maze, and now that he was on the ground, the intimidating height of the maze was obvious. This, he thought glumly, was the reason why he didn’t go adventuring. Still, his friend was in there somewhere, and the fate of the Eisenhardt kingdom was in his hands.

‘Thank you.’ Mindful of the pointy ends of its plumage, Charles patted it awkwardly at the side of its head. Those fiery eyes blinked at him, and for a moment he was certain the falcon was leaning into his touch. ‘Er, I suppose you’ll be off now?’

Click, click, click. In lieu of an answer, the falcon tucked its legs under itself and nestled onto the grass.

‘Right then,’ he muttered, stepping towards the entrance of the maze. ‘Let’s find you, my friend.’

The entrance closed up behind him the moment he crossed the threshold, but Charles was caught up by the complexity of the labyrinth. If he had not sighted it from above, he would never have guessed it was a maze – it felt just like the forest he had been travelling through. However, with concentration, he could pick out pathways. Replacing his shield on his arm, he started walking in the direction he would for his own labyrinth. All around was complete stillness and silence; the only sounds were his even breathing and the occasional crunch of a leaf underfoot. While it wasn’t entirely dark, with the sun breaking through in spots here and there, it seemed to be no earlier than dusk.

It was all terribly strange yet familiar at the same time. Charles wasn’t entirely sure that he was actually heading anywhere – for all he knew what he had seen was an illusion – but he instinctively felt he was right. Erik’s mind had been open to him since they first met, and he knew his friend’s mind like no other. Unlike most people, his telepathy intrigued rather than discomfited the older prince. They had spent many rainy afternoons with Erik challenging and testing his abilities. With a sudden pang, he realized how much he missed his friend.

‘Who are you? How did you get here?’

Nearly stumbling in surprise, Charles’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword. Erik stood before him where there was previously no one, face changing from suspicion to anger when he noticed the weapon.

‘Are you here to harm my family?’

Family, wondered Charles, the miniatures must be of them. ‘No, my name is Charles Xavier, and I’m your friend.’

The look of wary incomprehension that flashed across Erik’s face hurt more than he expected.

‘I don’t know you,’ he snarled, reaching out with a bared hand. ‘But I think you have something to do with them being missing.’

‘No, Erik, I’m – Erik!’ he gasped when both his sword and shield were lifted from his grasp and flew to his friend. Iron, the intricacy of those metal miniatures – everything fell into place at that moment.

_The astral plane is a blank slate: you are only limited by your mind._

But this is not my mind, he thought desperately. This is not how it’s supposed to end. Erik was now charging at him with clear intent.

‘How did I find you then?’ Charles asked.

‘I…’ Erik stopped, brows drawing together.

‘Erik, think about it. Where are you?’

‘I’m in the forest where I live with my family. Except I don’t know where they are, and there’s been no one else for so long…’ he trailed off, shoulders slumping slightly.

‘No, it’s not a forest,’ Charles approached his friend slowly, palms held up in a gesture of goodwill. ‘Well, I mean it looks like one but really, Erik, isn’t it a labyrinth?’

Not attacking but not releasing the sword either, the taller man stood his ground and glared at him.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘We used to play here. Remember how you always said you would figure the way to the centre before me, and you got lost?’

Recognition began to kindle behind the confusion. Charles stepped close to his friend.

‘I found you, and we worked out the way together. And I said to you –’

‘You’re not alone, Erik.’ Those green-gray eyes were now fixed upon his with growing wonder and warmth. the sword dropped to the ground and erik reached out to cradle his face. ‘You told me that I wasn’t alone, and I replied that I wanted you by my side.’

Charles could feel the tears falling from his eyes, but didn’t care for propriety.

‘Always, my friend,’ he whispered, and kissed him firmly.

=

It was still light when Charles jolted back into his physical body, but time worked differently on the astral plane. He brought his hand up to wipe at his face, laughing as he felt the wetness.

‘Charles,’ rasped a familiar voice that had deepened with age. He turned round and smiled at the beloved face looking tentatively at him. Leaning over, he captured those lips with his again, yelping in surprise when strong hands manoeuvred him up and over.

‘We do have a Regent to topple and a throne to reclaim,’ he murmured into Erik’s ear, delighting in the little shiver and tightening of the arms around his waist.

‘Yes, we do,’ he nipped the side of Charles’s neck and the younger squirmed. ‘But first, you must meet the family.’

=

Azazel cursed and vanished back into the hut with a loud crack when he bumped into them. Erik thought it poetic justice.

The rest reacted with more or less the same amount of surprise that quickly turned into an overwhelming tide of tears and hugs. He briefly wondered if Raven’s ability allowed her to cry so much more than the rest. Charles was predictably fascinated by them and insisted on a demonstration. (But Erik, they’re amazing) Their initial wariness was quickly dispelled when the Xavier heir settled on his lap to tell his tale.

‘So now I have to – ‘ Erik started when Charles concluded.

‘We,’ he corrected mildly.

‘We have to kill Shaw and stop the war.’

Seven pairs of eyes trained upon him, and Erik felt a sense of déjà vu. In a way, he was once more a stranger to them. No. he shook his head firmly. The past five years were as real as his childhood with Charles.

‘Okay, where do we start?’ Raven was the first to speak up. She had tucked herself against Erik’s side and was patiently bearing Charles’s examination of her skin. At that, he paused and looked up uncertainly.

‘Raven – ‘

‘Don’t you Raven me,’ she huffed indignantly. ‘We’re going with you, and that’s that.’

He sometimes forgot how determined she could be and how they seemed to share a collective mind.

‘They do, actually,’ said Charles, looking round with bright blue eyes. ‘Their minds are inter-connected. I’m not entirely sure how or why, but it is a force to be reckoned with. Never seen nor read of anything like that before.’

‘Did he just read your mind?’ asked Angel in alarm.

‘Telepathy,’ Charles tapped his temple cheerfully. ‘Runs in the family, and no, we respect people’s privacy. Circumstances excepted.'

‘Well then, you can tell Erik how he’s definitely not doing this by himself,’ replied Raven, folding her arms.

Turning those irresistibly wide eyes to him, Charles nodded solemnly.

‘I’m afraid it’s true, my friend. We would be wise to not protest.’

Erik sighed and wondered how he ever loved these people. The prince responded by shifting deliberately on his lap.

‘Fine.’

=

‘You assured me on your life that he was dead. Properly dead.’

The guard stood before Shaw, fighting the urge to prostrate himself on the ground. That would merely earn the Regent’s disdain and seal his fate quickly.

‘My lord, the witch told me that her potion was effective.’

Said witch was standing beside him, face a perfect mask of passivity.

The Regent laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

‘That’s her responsibility, yours was to ensure that he remained dead.’

‘He had no pulse, my lord.’ Even now, he wondered. Hadn’t his mother always warned him about witches with all their tricks and illusions? He should have known better than to trust one!

‘Ah, I see,’ Shaw sat back in his throne, hands caressing the oak arms. ‘And that meant he was dead.’

‘… My lord?’

‘Perhaps you might want to explain to me how a dead man could have entered this castle and is now fighting his way up to the throne room?’ asked the Regent so coldly that he was certain the temperature of the room dropped several notches.

Silence loomed in the huge hall, occasionally broken by the sounds of fighting and screams from below. Casting one last thought for his family, he took a deep breath and looked directly into the Regent’s obsidian eyes.

‘You will never be the King that Prince Erik was.’

The shade of red that coloured the Regent’s face and the roar of anger he released almost made it all worthwhile.

I’m sorry, father, he thought as he was flung through the air, spine breaking upon impact against the forbidding doors.

‘SHAW!’ Erik strode into the hall then, eyes blazing and bloodied sword in his right hand.

‘Erik, be careful!’ warned Charles, following close behind.

‘Ah, my dear Prince.’ Shaw swooped down the stairs, ensuring that his cloak billowed behind him. ‘How nice to see you alive, unlike your parents.’

There was a snarl at that, and he stepped swiftly aside as the sword flew at him. Interesting, he thought. Troublesome too. Flicking his hand, he smirked as the young prince was slammed against stonewalls.

‘Erik!’ The Xavier heir rushed to check on the fallen prince, and Shaw took a moment to savour his imminent victory.

The Crown Princes of both houses Xavier and Eisenhardt, about to fall to him. Let those noble born laugh at him of peasant stock now!

‘Oh, how tiresome.’ The icy voice snapped from behind him, and the last thing he felt was that dreadful cold grip in his head, around his mind. ‘Took you long enough to get here.’

Charles stared at Emma, who was standing over the fallen Regent with a look of utter disdain on her face. She leaned slightly, forcing the sword through Shaw’s head and stepping elegantly away as the blood began to pool.

‘You –’ gasped Erik, who had regained consciousness. The sword shot up and wrapped around her neck. ‘You let them die. You tried to kill me!’

Her now crystalline neck. With a start, Charles recognized that mineral, along with the fact that cracks were appearing beneath the tightening metal cord.

‘Erik, that’s enough.’ His friend either didn’t hear or was ignoring him. Emma was now on her knees. ‘That’s enough, Erik! I couldn’t have saved you without her help.’

Surprised, the Eisenhardt prince dropped the now gasping sorceress.

‘She was working with Shaw,’ he growled.

‘Silly boy,’ she rasped, pale hands massaging a rapidly bruising neck. ‘I serve no man – only the kingdom.’

‘Locking my memories and robbing me of my birthright were all for the interests of this kingdom then?’ he shot back in reply. Charles kept a tight grip on his upper arm, resisting the urge to telepathically calm his beloved.

‘No.’ For a rare once, Frost’s face lost its usual indifference, and her eyes were downcast. ‘I thought you might have a chance to be happy if you didn’t remember what Shaw had done to your family and at that time, he had possession of something dear to me.’

Charles thought of the ice falcon and suspected he knew what Frost referred to.

‘It is in my interests that this kingdom flourish, which it hopefully will, now with an Eisenhardt at its helm once more.’

With impeccable timing as usual, the other seven members of his adopted family barged in.

‘Erik! Are you okay?’

‘Everyone has surrendered – ‘

‘You do recall that many things in this castle are wood and hence inflammable, yes?’

‘You!’ Wanda pointed a finger at Frost with an expression of fury on her usually calm face. Disregarding the obviously dishevelled state of the sorceress, she marched over and punched her.

Everyone froze in surprise as the sorceress was knocked off her feet for the second time in a day. In the ensuing silence, the rustle of cloth rippled through the hall as Charles dropped on one knee.

‘My King.’

=

'Happily ever afters,' grumbled Erik, 'should not be told to unsuspecting little children who would grow up and be disappointed.'

Charles laughed, leaning over to kiss away the King’s frown. ‘Now, Erik, weren’t you taught how to run a kingdom?’

Erik looked gloomily at the mounds of papers that were stacked on his desk – proposals, reports, petitions – and thought that nothing could have prepared him for this, really.

‘Besides,’ continued Charles, now sitting on his lover’s lap. ‘You have six competent ministers helping you.’

That was true – the speed and ease with which the rest had taken to the intricacies of running a kingdom was astounding. Getting them accepted – especially Azazel and Raven – took slightly longer, but the people were so pleased at having the war stopped and their Prince returned that they all forgot about the fuss after a while. Those that didn’t... well Genosha was more peaceful than most other kingdoms for a reason. Angel was quickly established as Royal Cook, and missed no chance to remind St John that he was no longer so free as to snoop around stealing her food.

‘And of course, you have me,’ concluded Charles, hands roving down his back in a distinctly distracting and unhelpful manner.

‘Only until you become King,’ Erik murmured, sucking the lithe neck under his. Charles was not the only one with tricks.

‘I’ve always told father we should forge an alliance,’ he replied breathily, hips stuttering forward. ‘And what better way than through marriage?’

Capturing those plush teasing lips and pinning the prince against the table, Erik thought that perhaps happy endings did exist.

_‘Oh yes they do, my friend. This is ours.’_

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to know what happened to Frost, King Brian (Charles's father) offered her a place at his court because he thinks all telepaths should stick together. Couldn't really find a way to stick this into the story without breaking its flow.
> 
> There's a paraphrased quote from The Dark Knight returns: "There can be no true despair without hope."


End file.
